Twisted Reason (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  “I was right, Lieutenant. We went through five years of files. There’s been a real uptick in missing elderly in the last 18 months that’s disproportionate to the increase in population in that age group,” Jumbo said.

  “Okay. And?”

  “And?” Jumbo asked.

  “And, Butler, you said you had new developments – with an s.”

  “Oh right. I forgot I hadn’t told you yet. Early today, I called the Missing Persons division at the state police. I told them about my concerns. They said that they’d already been a bit alarmed by the numbers coming out of my office recently and said they’d red flagged us to do a follow-up investigation but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Anyway, the captain there told me to keep her informed on what me and Karla found in our file search.

  “Then about an hour and a half ago, she called me back and said that two unidentified bodies of elderly folks were found in Dinwiddie County that morning. No missing people in the county matched the descriptions but since we were the nearest major city, they just might belong to us.”

  “Really? Are the bodies here?”

  “Nope. They’re in Norfolk.”

  “Why’s that? We’re a lot closer – and Dinwiddie is in our district, isn’t it?”

  “Ah, I guess you didn’t hear the news. There was a massive explosion followed by a fire at a large apartment complex in the south of town just minutes before noon. Doc Sam’s not accepting any out of town bodies until he can deal with the fatalities that are pouring in to the morgue as we speak. So they transported the two Dinwiddie bodies down to the Tidewater district. Can’t ever make it easy for the investigators, can they?”

  “Doubt if they give us a thought.”

  “Anyway,” Jumbo continued, “me and Karla have been going through the files of the last year and a half. Here’s how we’ve divided them up. This bin –” he said, laying a hand on a blue plastic crate – “has all the files of missing elderly where there is no report of dementia.” Moving on to the red container, he said, “And this one has all the files with dementia.” He moved over to the third crate. “Here we separated out the files from this past month – most of the files are from the past few days, probably folks that are just lost and will be found any minute now.

  “The captain said that if we can bring down dental records for any possible matches, they can have a forensic odontologist there this evening.”

  “So what are you waiting for?” Lucinda asked.

  “We were just getting ready to cull the herd a bit. We know the dead woman is 5223 and the dead guy is 52113. Figured we’d pull out any folks that aren’t within an inch or two of those heights and I’d take the rest down to Norfolk.”

  “I’ll help and drive you down there if you like.”

  “You sure? We’ll probably hit some dense drive time traffic.”

  “I’ve got lights in the grille of my car. And I’m not afraid to use ’em.”

  “Great. Let’s get through these files and get going,” he said with a grin.

  Lucinda couldn’t help thinking he looked even more like a leprechaun when he had a smile on his face.

  They pulled all the documents they needed and double-checked to make sure the dental records were enclosed. As they headed for Lucinda’s car, she remembered her promise to visit Vicki and pick up the medical records. She called Ted who agreed to pick them up for her and offer apologies.

  She pulled onto the highway wondering if she was investigating three homicides or going on a wild goose chase driven by the ghosts of her past.

  Fifteen

  The traffic grew much denser as they approached the Norfolk, both because of the higher population and the timing of their arrival in the area. But, true to her word, Lucinda was not shy about using her lights and forcing their way through the bottlenecks. At just under two hours on the road, she pulled into the parking lot; Lucinda was pleased – just a few minutes over the MapQuest-indicated time.

  Inside, the odontologist had not yet arrived and the forensic pathologist was still busy with the bodies. They paced the floor outside the autopsy suite waiting for one of the two to be available. The doctor greeted them first.

  “What were the causes of death?” Lucinda asked.

  “The John Doe died as a result of cerebral edema – brain swelling – brought on by a skull fracture from blunt force trauma. He had contra-coupe injuries to the back of his skull but the real damage was to the front. And here’s the thing that doesn’t make sense to me yet. There is repeated trauma to his forehead – but all in approximately the same spot – and it seems to have been caused by a flat surface, like a floor or a wall. Now, I’ve seen someone beaten to death that way but you usually find other indicators: bruising on the arms, shoulders, or neck and strikes that land on the sides of the skull because the victim struggled. But this one’s strange – either he was unconscious when he was beaten or he did this to himself.”

  “In other words, no clear signs of foul play?”

  “You got it. But considering where he was found, there had to be foul play. Someone must have dumped the body – he’s too far from a wall or floor out there to have injured himself that badly and then gotten to the pond by himself, where he just happen to stumble and fall into the water. Besides, there’s no water in his lungs so he couldn’t have been breathing then.”

  “Are you doing a tox screen?”

  “We’ll run the standard toxicology but unless we learn who he is, we don’t know what else to look for.”

  “Hopefully we can help with that. What about the woman?”

  “The Jane Doe did die from drowning. However, once again, I’m suspicious because of where she was found. On the other hand, there are no signs of the bruising you’d expect if someone held her underwater. Still, the water in her lungs bothers me.”

  “How so?”

  “I put some of it on a slide and looked at it with a microscope, comparing it to the water sample retrieved from the site where her body was found. There are different organisms in the two that troubled me. But that isn’t my area of expertise. I sent samples off to the FBI lab to see what they can determine. And before you ask, my response to the tox screen is the same. I suspect you asked because you had something in mind. Care to enlighten me?”

  “Of course, Doctor. We’re investigating a case where we suspect that a heart attack was brought on because the victim didn’t have access to his medications for five months. I’m wondering if these two had been cut off from their prescriptions as well. And if that played a role in their deaths.”

  “Well, Dr. Tooth should be along soon and maybe you can get an ID.”

  “Dr. Tooth? That’s his name?” Jumbo Butler asked.

  “No,” the pathologist said with a laugh. “That’s just what I call him. And, look, here he is now.”

  “Hey, Dr. Guts,” the newcomer shouted up the hall.

  “See, the nickname I gave him is thoroughly justified,” the pathologist said to Butler and Pierce. “Dr. Tooth, welcome to my parlor.”

  “Did you remember to do X-rays for me this time or are you going to make me stick my hands in dead mouths?”

  “I won’t even dignify that remark with an answer. Here are the detectives. They’re all yours. He nodded his head, turned and walked away. He stopped just before leaving the room and said, “Lieutenant, there was something odd. It probably doesn’t mean anything but I thought I should mention it.”

  “Yes, Doctor?”

  “The man – his pockets – they were full of acorns.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I don’t understand it either but it’s not the first acorns we’ve run across in this case,” Lucinda said.

  After the pathologist left the room, the forensic odontologist said, “To set the record straight, my name is Dr. Krasnik. What have you got for me to examine? How many files?”

  Jumbo held out the folders. “We’ve got six women, nine men.”

  “You couldn’t narrow it down more than that?”


  “Sorry,” Jumbo replied with a shrug.

  “Well, have a seat. This may take a while. At least the state pays me by the hour, so I can’t complain too much.”

  Lucinda and Jumbo chatted about the department, working conditions in the separate divisions and people they both knew. They ran out of conversation long before they had answers from Dr. Krasnik. They were both dozing in the hard plastic chairs when he finally emerged from the back.

  “The good news is that I made positive identification on both the bodies. The bad news is that two of your people are dead – and I know those family notifications are a bitch. Can’t say I envy you.”

  “Thank you,” they said in unison. “We really appreciate your time,” Lucinda added.

  Jumbo took the files and they walked out to Lucinda’s car for the long ride home. Lucinda turned on the overhead light and Jumbo read to her from the documents. The woman, Adele Kendlesohn, had been missing since Halloween day. The man, Francis DeLong, hadn’t been seen by his family since last summer. Both suffered from dementia. Additionally, DeLong had shown symptoms of psychosis off and on for decades.

  “It’ll be eleven or so by the time we get back to town,” Lucinda said.

  “After all this time, no sense in bothering the families tonight, is there?”

  “First thing tomorrow, then?”

  “First thing? Like seven, seven thirty?” Jumbo asked.

  “Let’s make it six thirty. I’ll meet you in the parking lot behind the Justice Center.”

  Sixteen

  Sherry sat on the edge of the bed with her arms folded tightly across her chest and her right index finger tap-tap-tapping a spot on her arm just above her left elbow. “I already had supper, they said. Humph. Not likely. I would have remembered eating supper,” she said out loud to the empty room. “And, oh, that Don, all nice and sweet, he sidles up to me, with his bag full of tricks and make nice and says, ‘You already had two chocolate puddings, Miss Sherry. You can’t have any more tonight.’ Ha! As if I wouldn’t remember eating chocolate. I’m not that stupid. Sonsabitches. They were trying to starve me to death. That Don, he’s the worst of all of them. And is he gonna pay. I’ll see to that.

  “Or maybe they’re trying to drive me crazy. Gaslight me like they did to that pretty Ingrid Bergman. She saved herself from that bastard – and you better watch out, I will, too.”

  Underneath this layer of outrage and paranoia toward others, Sherry harbored a more intense anger and frustration with herself. She remembered that she was supposed to do something that day. She recalled waking up with a plan. But she was certain that she hadn’t followed through with it. Worst of all, she had no recollection of what it was she planned to do. I should have written a note. I should make lists like I used to do.

  She dug around in drawers until she found a pad of paper and a pen. But then she didn’t know what to do. It went beyond not knowing what she wanted to write down. It was far more elemental. She looked at the paper. She looked at the pen. And she couldn’t remember how to bring them together to put words down. She turned them both around in her hands, looking at them from every angle. But nothing came to her. She threw them both as hard as she could. The pen bounced against the wall, the pad fluttered its pages in the air and fell to the floor before making it halfway to its destination.

  Fat teardrops formed in her eyes and plopped on to her cheekbones before travelling down to her chin. She wiped angrily at them as they hung there, mumbling her irritation with the itching sensation they caused. Maybe I told someone what I wanted to do. Maybe if I asked, someone would remember.

  At that thought her tears dried – now she had something to do. She placed a hand on the bed on either side of her hips. She tried to push her body up but the mattress was too soft and her arms too weak. She placed her palms on her knees, leaned forward, and straightened into an upright position. A proud smile crossed her face as she walked to her front door.

  She turned the knob and pulled. It didn’t open. She leaned backwards, putting her weight into the task but the door would not yield. She turned the lock on the doorknob and repeated the process but still had no luck. She beat on the door and yelled. But no one came.

  She kicked the door until she was aware of the growing pain in her foot. She sat on the edge of the bed, removed her shoes and saw blood on one big toe. She hobbled into the bathroom, got the box of bandages and limped back to the bed with her big toe raised up away from the floor. She covered the injury and slumped in defeat. The door was locked. I’m a prisoner. They locked me in to keep me from getting food. The window . . . I’ll climb out the window.

  The thought of grabbing the cord and pulling up the drapes never occurred to her. Instead she fought with the fabric, tugging on it, pulling at it, fumbling with the folds until the gap revealed itself. She tunneled her way behind it but the big picture window defied her. It had no ledge to grab and lift, no seams to exploit. She thought about breaking the glass but the fear of a bad cut stopped her. She slapped the glass lightly as if she thought she’d hit a magic spot and slide through to the other side like Alice through the looking glass.

  The bathroom window popped into her thoughts. Instead of pulling backward and letting the drapes slide over and off of her head, she fought with them, panicking when it seemed they were holding her captive. The fabric brushed against her face like bird wings. A vision of Tippi Hedren in Hitchcock’s The Birds filled her vision, cruel beaks pecking at her scalp, wicked claws grabbing for her face.

  Sherry closed her eyes and flapped her hands around her head trying to chase away the imagined feathered demons. She squirmed in terror and, without knowing how she managed it, she broke free. Nothing touched her face, the birds’ screams faded away. For a moment, she dared not move – she stood still, panting and trembling. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The birds were gone. She scanned the room fearing she’d see one perched on her headboard, on a lamp, on the frame of a door. But not one was in sight.

  The bathroom window. She took a step in that direction and stopped. What if the birds are in the bathroom? Waiting to attack me? But it’s my only way out. She pressed her palms hard against her thudding heart. She took one tentative step after another until she reached the doorway. She peered around the room but saw no sign of them. What if they’re hiding behind the shower curtain?

  Cautious, she placed one foot after another until her shins touched the edge of the tub. She reached out one hand, grabbing the plastic covering. She inhaled deeply, held her breath and jerked back the curtain.

  She choked out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cry. No birds. She steadied her breath and stepped one foot after the other over the edge of the tub. The window was set up high – she had to stand on tiptoes to reach the latch. She flipped it open, grabbed the ledge and pushed up but it wouldn’t budge.

  She tried again and again – veins popping out on her neck, face flushing bright red – until her arms ached from the effort. She tried to wriggle her fingers around the sill and slip them under the sash but the gap was far too narrow.

  She leaned forward pressing her hot forehead against the cool tile on the wall and sobbed. She slid down slowly, crumpling into a defeated heap. She lay on her side, curled up and cried herself to sleep.

  Seventeen

  Lucinda pulled into the driveway of the house belonging to Adele Kendlesohn’s son and daughter-in-law. She curled her lip in disgust. Another huge brick monstrosity with pompous two-story columns that she felt looked more like an institution than a home.

  Lucinda and Jumbo walked onto the porch and rang the bell. Dogs barked in response, while a fluffy black cat slunk up to the glass and stared through the side pane at the people causing all the commotion. A scowling Eli Kendlesohn opened the door, the cat darted away and the dogs bit at the air as they snarled.

  “I recognize you,” he said, pointing at Jumbo. “But I don’t think I”ve seen you before.”

  Lucinda flapped open her badge and sa
id, “Lieutenant Pierce, sir. We would like to talk to you and your wife, please.”

  “She’s not even downstairs yet,” he objected.

  “Sir, it’s about your mother.”

  “Oh, of course it is.” His face lengthened forming deep furrows downward from both corners of his mouth. He seemed to age before their eyes. “I guess I can assume this isn’t good news.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Let me put these dogs out in the backyard so they don’t drive us all crazy.” He walked away with a Corgi, a Scottie and an unrecognizable ball of fluff at his heels. When he walked back up the hall, he stopped to shout up the stairway. “Honey, the police are here. It’s about Mom.”

  He opened the door and invited Lucinda and Jumbo into the house. The ostentatious crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer annoyed Lucinda even more than the exterior façade. The scent of lemon furniture polish overwhelmed her nose causing it to crinkle and squirm involuntarily as if trying to escape her face.

  Eli guided them into a formal living room with a grand piano in one corner by the entrance and a large, impressive oriental vase in the other. He stopped before a fireplace with a walnut mantle and slate hearth. Above the mantle hung an enormous oil painting of a woman in an evening gown smiling smugly down at one and all.

  “Have a seat, please,” Eli said. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee; can I get some for the two of you?”

  They both accepted the offer and when Eli vanished into the kitchen, Lucinda brushed off the back of her skirt before easing down on the stark white cushions of the sofa. Jumbo followed her lead, contorting his body to try to see if he missed anything before he, too, took a seat on the other end.

  Eli returned bearing a tray laden with four steaming mugs, a pitcher of cream, bowl of sugar and four spoons. As he set it down on the coffee table, his wife stepped into the room. Lucinda looked from her to the portrait and noticed the resemblance. Not a good omen, she thought.